


Drabbles of Destiel

by Specbubble



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, De-Aged Castiel, Fluff, Glasses, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specbubble/pseuds/Specbubble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the dinky ficlets that pop into my head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It is worship, when he is like this. Still and silent, biting his lip and gripping the sheets with white knuckles in sheer frustration. Sweat falls across his golden brow as he glances down and whimpers.

He moves, so slowly, too slowly. His plump, pink wet mouth opens wide as he gently suckles the head into the warm darkness there. His tongue teases the slit gracefully. It feels as though his mouth was made for this, the palette fitting the weight perfectly. He starts to suck, so softly, then harder and harder, hollowing his cheeks and drinking down the pearly wetness that trickles from the slit. He tastes and feeds, swallowing and licking, breathing through his nose as he sinks deeper and deeper, opening his throat to allow the solid, firm, hard weight. He tenses the muscles in his throat, eliciting a sigh and a moan from above. He pushes and slides his mouth, stretched wide open in a perfect O around him. 

“Cas” breathes a voice above him, as softly as a prayer.

He draws back again so only the swollen, heavy head rests on his tongue. His pillow plump lips press kisses up and down the shaft, his dark red tongue peeks out to move and lick, taste and swipe. 

He thinks he has drawn this out long enough. His movements are more frantic now, up and down and around, drinking and suckling, his tongue swirling and wiping. His body tenses up like a bullet before a warm rush of slick come shoots down his throat. His swallows gratefully and moves his lips away. 

A mouth meets his, kisses like fresh air.


	2. Worship

This is a form of worship. The first time he was allowed to touch, skin on skin, he saw fireworks behind his eyes. The warm pulse of silky human flesh against his vessels own skin, it was a heady rush akin to nothing else.

While he sleeps, his face is calm and peaceful, his brow isn’t furrowed in thought or worry. His dreams must be happy ones.

He starts at his feet, running his fingertips over the roughened skin on the soles, the delicate skin the top. He marvels at the cluster of hair on each big toe, the perfect formation of the toenails. 

He moves to ankles, surprisingly delicate for such a strong man, well turned and fine boned. They feel slender as he wraps a hand around them, and yet they carry the weight of not only a human body but a soul who has lived through too much.

Calves are next. They feel ropey and muscled, like a man who can run and run and run, and has had to run. The hair is coarse but there is only a fine sprinkling of it, and it turns gold as it catches the light.

The backs of his knees are ticklish, so he does not linger here. The skin is so delicate, like gossamer, and if he presses his finger lightly to the right spot he can feel the pulse of warm blood through strong veins.

His beautiful thighs are next. They are so beautiful. Strong and lean and powerful. They look magnificent in whatever they are doing, flexing under denim or naked and coated in a fine film of sweat as they hoist him up against a wall. They are man’s thighs, delicious and weighty and strong. They smell like him.

The curve of buttocks come next. Oh, he could stay here for days. The luscious swell from a wiry back, the beautiful plumpness. The skin here is entirely unmarked and perfect, a glowing gold colour. The light smattering of hair is wiry and a dark blonde. It is so beautiful, like a perfect fresh ripe peach. His palm traces the beautiful curve over and over.

His narrow hips lead into a broad, strong, graceful back. A V of muscle sits just above his bum, the perfect size for a tongue tenderly licking away sweat. On his back, such perfect muscles, such strength and agility. Broad shoulders, long and lean. His skin is so smooth, so fresh, and so young. It begs to be touched, to be kissed, and to be licked. Such beauty, like it was carved from marble.

He murmurs in his sleep, and turns over, and the worship begins again. At shoulders, at biceps, those strong, beautiful, palpable biceps, at bony elbows, at long, luscious, lickable forearms, capable clever fingers, so decisive in whatever they are doing- loading guns, ripping open food, scissoring and opening him inside. He sucks a forefingers into his mouth and sighs at the taste of flesh. 

He traces the muscles in his chest and abdomen, the perfect leanness. His fingernails traces a navel, a nipple, like a fresh cherry in a mound of brown sugar, a line of hair leads down to his groin, and during particularly lengthy sessions, sweat gathers there which he sucks from him, tasting his sweat, fresh and salty, like the sea. His hips rise underneath his skin, pushing, and a thumb traces their outline. His hand follows over him, over and over again. Skin here, hair there, a nipple, a groove of muscle, the outlines of bones and veins. 

As he sweeps down again with a tender warm hand to the smooth plane of his stomach, a gentle tap of soft, wet, pink head meets with his wrist.

“Hey Cas” a voice grumbles somewhere above him. “I’m not asleep”

Two sleepy mouths meet, and the world stops turning


	3. Baby in a Trenchcoat

Dean sighed and raked a hand over his sweaty face. It had to be witches, didn't it? He could handle most things with ease but witches, they really got to him. 4 of the screaming evil bitches all over the place. Son of a bitch.

"Dean" said a small but firm voice near his knee. He looked down, too weary to react properly.

"I don't know what's happened to me."

Dean finally took in the sight before him and took a disbelieving step backwards. Cas was a toddler. He looked, to be honest, like someone had taken a good shot at him with a shrink ray. He still had his crowning glory of thick, black hair, and his startling glowing blue eyes were as bright and grave as ever. He was wearing his usual clothes, dark suit and white dress shirt with a crooked tie, but they were miniature versions. Topping it all off was a teeny tan trench coat. He looked mildly perturbed by his predicament as he squinted up at Dean.

"CAS!" Dean yelled, finally startled out of his stupor. "I...what happened? I don't understand, are you okay?"

Cas straightened himself up to his full, tiny height and furrowed his brow. It was oddly comical to see such a serious face on such a pink cheeked little cutie-pie. Dean mentally slapped himself for using the word "cutie-pie" at the same time he was thinking about Cas. Actually, using the words "cutie-pie" at all. 

"I am almost certain this is only temporary, Dean" said Cas, his normally deep rumbling voice quite a few octaves higher. "I am fine. I seem to have retained all my memories and knowledge. I feel, I feel a little funny though..."

Cas' voice broke off and he stared miserably at his dinky feet for a moment before his lower lip started to wobble. He looked up at Dean helplessly, his bright eyes suddenly glassy. He snivelled a little and miserably wiped his nose on his sleeve before a few tears trickled down his smooth pale skin and he began to cry. 

"Cas" Dean said, shocked. "What's, what's going on? Are you in pain?"

"No!" Cas wailed, waving his tiny fists around "I don't understand! I feel okay but this, this new vessel, it seems to be unhappy and I..."

Cas broke off, hiccuping and snivelling. 

Dean stared at his miniature friend and felt at a loss. Remembering Sam when he was small, he reached out an awkward hand to rest on Cas' little head, patting and stroking while making what he hoped were soothing noises.

Cas seemed to cheer up a little and then he reached his tiny arms up for Dean, hands splayed wide open. As if on reflex, Dean scooped him up and settled his on his hip, one hand cradling his back protectively. Cas immediately wrapped his arms around Dean's neck, and snuffled his face into his neck. The crying subsided and he looked pleased. He turned his tear streaked eyes back to Dean.

"I apologise" he said, looking meek. "I appear to want this but I do not know why." His pink lips pouted and he leaned close to Dean, smacking a big wet kiss onto his cheek. Cas' eyes widened in horror, and then he reached out a tiny hand and patted Dean affectionately on the other cheek. 

Dean tried his best not to look pleased. "I err...we can keep this a moment between us Cas. Not a problem."

At that moment, a clatter of sound echoed across the room, swiftly followed by the galloping steps of Sam. He shook his hair as he rounded the corner, sending bits of dust flying, all the while yelling "Dean! Dean! Cas! Are you guys okay?"

He stopped short when he finally caught sight of them. Dean managing to look simultaneously annoyed and delighted, holding a bundle of cute that, when Sam stepped closer, turned out to be Cas.

"Witches cast a spell then, huh?" Sam stepped closer. Pinned to Cas' trenchcoat was a tiny brooch in the shape of angel wings. "Let it not be said witches don't have a sense of humour."

Cas eyed Sam warily, then leaned closer to Dean.

"Uh, I gotta say" Sam said, clearing his throat. "We will fix this, obviously, but he is adorable."

Dean waited for the squint swiftly followed by a possible angelic ass kicking but instead, Cas grinned ear to ear, kicked his tiny feet and planted another luscious wet smacker on Dean's face. 

Dean had to admit, he was extremely cute.


	4. That is my Fetish

“Are you definitely sure about this?” said a very amused voice from behind the bathroom door.

“I wouldn’t have bought them for you if I didn’t want to see you in them” replies Dean amicably, from where he’s lying on the bed. He’s warm and sleepy and content, and the last thing he wants is for Cas to get weird about this. It was only an idea after all.

Dean cannot explain when and where this fetish came from. It just…exists. He doesn’t really know why. It has just always been there. Always made him catch his breath a bit when someone walked past wearing them. Made him sit up a bit straighter and wish they’d notice him. He honestly didn’t know why. They spelt sophistication, glamour, intelligence. They were always worn by the most desirable of people. There are a lot of people who looked amazing in nothing at all, but add a pair of these bad boys to the mix and you had one flushing and stuttering hunter on your hands. Dean always thought they hinted that whoever wore them was about to take them off and fling them across the room and….or lower them to the tip of their nose and stare at you from above them….or….anyway. Dean was getting ahead of himself.

He had seen this pair as he tottered past a local shop and just knew he had to buy them. They were broad and the thick rim was a discreet tortoishell pattern. They were a heavy plastic with long stems. The woman in the shop had advised him that the thicker the plastic between the nose the more close together it can make eyes look. Dean had explained they weren’t for him, rather for a friend who he was going to “take them home to so he could try them on and see if he liked them”. The woman in the shop had enquired politely what his friends eyes were like and had found himself thinking phrases such as “like the ocean after a storm” “like a summer sky in the middle of the day”, and thinking words such as glassy blue, electric blue and maybe just possibly the word sapphire had popped up in there too. He had snapped out of his reverie and warbled the words “amazing” before he’d even realised. The woman on the counter had patted him softly on the arm and rung them up, popped them in a case and Dean was on his way.

Cas walked out of the bathroom while Dean was engrossed in a magazine. He leant casually against the doorframe, forehead bumping the wood, and waited for Dean to look up. When it became apparent just how bored of waiting for him Dean had become, Cas let out a low whistle.

Well. Holy. Jesus. 

Now. Dean isn’t floored by much. He’s seen vampires, ghosts, the gates of heaven and hell; archangels strutting about like they were off to have a picnic and at one point his brother was not in fact his brother but just a shell. So it stands to reason that it takes really quite a lot to shock him. 

Dean swallowed audibly and tried to tell his jaw to close. It didn’t seem to respond.

There, leaning against the door frame, like a Levi’s model, like a beautiful boy waiting for his lover, like a, like, Dean’s brain was too fried for analogies. Leaning there like a gorgeous cowboy, was Cas. You know, little nerdy dude formerly in possession of wings? Dressed like a holy tax accountant and had all the social grace of a tin of salmon? Yeah, that guy. 

He wore heavy black boots on his feet, which were crossed at the ankle. He wore pale blue jeans that moulded to every single muscle and curve like they were sprayed on. They sat on his narrow hips like they were kissing the skin. His wore a loose shiny silky shirt over the top, the buttons only done up around his navel, leaving acres of brown firm skin on display. The sleeves were rolled up leaving an expanse of strong, wiry forearm on show, delicate dark hairs curled all around them. His arms were folded across his chest, drawing attention to his muscular yet not bulky shape. His hair was artfully dishevelled, like he just woke up and rolled out of bed looking like a Greek god. His face was tanned and smiling, those baby blues glowing like they were on fire from the inside. 

Dean moved his eyes deliberately upwards, and stared. On the end of his adorable button nose were a pair of brand new, shiny sparkling glasses. They leant his boyish face a rakish air, a new dimension, it spoke that he was an intelligent man, not a boy, someone to be listened to. Someone who read a lot, watched a lot and knew a lot. 

His big plump mouth was curled up in the faintest hint of amusement at Dean, still sitting on the bed on his knees, doing a very good impression of a fish.

“I take it that you like them then?” asked Cas, adjusting the frames just slightly. He quite liked them, actually. They had a clear prescription in them and he found himself thinking that in fact he did look quite intelligent with them on. 

Dean didn’t know he possessed that kind of agility until he was on top of Cas on the bed, kissing him in a frenzy. Every now and again his fingertips grazed the ends of those amazing glasses and his groaned louder into his mouth. Cas bucked up into him, panting and breathing loudly through his nose.

Dean sat on Cas’ chest and opened his trousers. Cas gasped and moved his head up onto the pillow to get a better look. Moments later, Dean trembled and gasped and Cas found himself wearing further decoration on his new glasses. Dean looked at him then, wearing an odd mask of lust, power, horror and wonderment. 

Cas smiled and removed his glasses, wiping them clean with a tissue. Dean laughed and began to kiss his way down his body, pulling the shirt aside to make way for kisses and humming as he did so. When he reached Cas’ navel, Cas groaned and moved his hands up the glasses.

“Leave them on” Dean whispered against his skin. 

Cas cocked one eyebrow, lowered the glasses and looked at Dean over them. Dean gasped and moved his mouth lower.

They didn’t get an awful lot else done that day.


	5. I am done with my graceless heart

Dean watched Cas leave and did nothing. Like he always knew he would. He'd screwed it up, hadn't he? Like he always did. Just like he let down every single thing he cared about.

Time to dive face first into a bottle of whisky and let it all go.

Cas sat outside on an old junked car. They were staying somewhere...Dean had said but he wasn't really listening. He thought about everything Dean had said earlier.

After their argument, Dean was sitting at the kitchen table and staring at the wall. He looked unhappy, angry and worried, all at once. 

"Dean" said Cas, sullenly "We had a mild disagreement. That was all. You cannot take every single time we fall out as a sign that I do not love you any more."

Dean had said nothing. But Cas knew he was right, but Dean would chop his foot off before agreeing. 

So Cas had gone to bed, for the lack of anything else to do or anything else to say. Two bodies had shared that bed, but the distance between them may as well have been miles. No foot made it way across the bed to caress ankle, no hand reached for the other. Both waited for a hand on the shoulder, an arm around the waist, a whispered "I'm sorry" or "I love you." Cas had fallen asleep fitfully eventually, and hoped that in the morning things would feel different. Dean's side of the bed was cool, indicating he had been gone for some time. 

Cas didn't know if he was strong enough to love someone who truly didn't believe they were worth loving.

Dean came outside to where Cas was sitting. He didn't say anything. He didn't know how. It was early in the morning still, and there was a bite to the air. 

"I love you, Dean" Cas told him simply. "I won't stop saying it until you believe it. I won't stop showing you until you believe me. I am not doing this because I feel like I should, because I need to, or because someone told me to. I am doing this because I want to. I have sacrificed so much for you, but there was never a second, never a moment, never a blink where I thought I had made the wrong decision. I loved you from the moment I held your soul in my hands. I know that you think everyone that loves you will leave you eventually- your Mother, Sammy, your Father, Bobby. But I wouldn't. Wild horses couldn't drag me away from you. In fact, I'd love to see them try."

Dean's face remained carefully blank. He had almost got away with it, had Cas not noticed the single tear travelling down his cheek.

"I love you. Did you know that? Do you understand that?"

Dean nodded silently.

"Don't try to push me until I leave. I won't. Don't try to hide yourself from me because you can't. You are worth it, and you always were. I could have lived a thousand lifetimes, but each one would be hollow if you weren't there. I don't want anyone else, and I never will. To me, you are everything. I don't want to live on a world that doesn't have you in it. I love you, and I will love you. Forever."

Dean's shoulders shook, and he clumsily swiped a hand over his face, smearing his tears.

"I don't deserve you" he mumbled around his sleeve.

"I don't understand how you can say that." Cas told him, placing his hands on his shoulders. "If I could give you anything, it would be one day, just one day, to see yourself through my eyes. You are not the bitter and broken man you profess yourself to be. You are more than anyone, even you, ever thought you could be. I'm proud of you, proud to know you, and proud to love you. I mean that Dean! Look at me! It is an honour to love you. I consider myself to be lucky"

Dean stared at Cas, and Cas stared back. Dean's eyes betrayed a million emotions stirring in his head. He was so scared, so tired, so weary and so beaten. He wanted this, but the bitter part of him told him he couldn't have it.

"I know you love me too" Cas told him, as gently as he could. "I just need you to be brave. It isn't a weakness Dean, to love someone."

Dean nodded and walked away. Cas considered following him, but knew it wasn't the right thing to do. Time was all he needed.

Days passed, and Dean seemed fine. Quiet but fine. He stared at Cas for too long and was extra clingy, demanding a hug or clutching at Cas' hand like a lost child. But he didn't say it.

One evening, over beer and popcorn, over an action packed movie and under a scratchy blanket. Dean turned to Cas.

"I have something to tell you." he smiled, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"How many words is it?" Cas asked, tilting his head to the side like a robin.

"Three" Dean replied.

Cas smiled like the sunshine after rain.

"Three back, Dean."


	6. Sammy, you little star

Sam sat down next to Dean and wisely kept his mouth shut. He handed him a beer. Shuffled his feet. Straightened his shirt. Pushed his hair back off his face.

"Spit it out, Sam" Dean growled.

"Okay, so..." Sam began slowly.

"I. Am. Not. Gay" Dean spat, wincing after he said it.

"I didn't say you were" Sam said, raising his eyebrows. "But..."

"Oh, son of a bitch" Dean groaned.

"Dean, shut up" Sam said, his voice clipped. "You don't talk until I finish, okay?"

Dean waved one hand vaguely in the air.

"So here's what I think" Sam began, angling his body towards Dean. "You can't help who you fall in love with, okay? Never can, so don't bother trying. You just can't. And gender, really, how important is that? Really? You don't actually get to decide, okay, the heart just wants what it wants. And yours Dean....it wants Cas."

Dean sighed heavily.

"Can we try something? Sam asked gingerly.

"Why not?" Dean mumbled.

"Let's take gender out of this entirely okay? I'm just going to refer to Cas as 'the person'" Sam said eagerly. "Number one, do you miss the   
person when the person is not around?"

"Yes" said Dean.

"Does the person make you laugh and make you happy?"

"Yes."

"Are you attracted to the person?"

"Very much so."

"Do you think of the person often and fondly?"

"Yes."

"Do you go out of your way to do things to make the person happy?"

"Yes."

"Do you take better care of yourself because you know it makes the person happy?"

"Yes."

"Does the thought of the person being unhappy or in pain make you feel awful?"

"Oh, yes. A lot".

"So" Sam said, resting his large hands on his knees. "Logical conclusion?"

"I appear to have fallen in love" Dean replied, picking idly at his beer bottle.

"Yes" Sam breathed, letting his shoulders relax a bit. "Forget about gay or straight, forget about labels. You just deserve happiness, and I think Cas can give it to you. He adores you. Your happiness means more to him than anything. That man would run over broken glass to reach you in his bare feet. Dude, he loves you. Deeply and wholly. He wants to be the centre of your whole world." Sam half smiled and laughed a bit. "Doesn't seem to realise he already is."

Dean laughed a tiny bit too, his shoulders shaking briefly.

"It doesn't matter that you're both men. I umm...I don't really want to discuss your sex life but I know you find Cas physically attractive. So, you're going to do something I'm assuming you've never done before. It's normal and very healthy to be nervous. It would be weird if you weren't. But umm...you kind of, need to get over yourself? Okay? I never said you were gay, if that word makes you feel weird. All I am saying is, you have fallen in love with Cas. With who he is. With his personality and his kindness and his heart and his mind. Pretty doesn't keep you warm at night Dean anyway, physicality becomes much less important in long term relationships." Sam pushed Dean's shoulder gently. "So I've been told anyway."

"Are you honestly telling me that if you fell in love with a man, you'd be cool with it?" Dean asked, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline.

"Yep" Sam said, with total conviction. "I don't care about sexuality. You love who you love, and there's no-one who can say that's not fair. I've been thinking about that Dean, I had a feeling you would ask me that, and I do mean it. If I met someone who truly made me happy, I wouldn't care if they had 6 eyes and 14 legs. Love is love, okay?"

Dean looked mildly flattened by his answer. His nodded and fixed his eyes on the floor. Sam stood and rested a giant hand on his brothers shoulder.

"Just something to mull over, okay?" 

Dean nodded again, then looked up through his eyelashes. "Thank you Sam" he said sincerely. "Thank you for being so great about this."

Sam grinned and started to walk off. "You're welcome bitch!"

Dean said nothing. Wow. He really was thinking. Sam wandered off, leaving Dean in the swirl of his mind.


	7. Watch him as he falls

Dean stood in the doorway to their bedroom, twisting the cuff of his sleeve round and round his hand. Cas needed someone, sure, but 

Dean didn't know how to do this. He needed someone to put just the right words in his ear, and Dean didn't know what they were. He was good at a lot of things- fighting, drinking, saying he was all right when he was actually anything but. But talking to people who were upset....that was more of a Sam thing.

Cas was lying face down on the bed, his eyes were hidden by a pillow. He was wearing a threadbare pair of old jeans- they were actually   
Dean's with the cuffs turned up so they fit his shorter frame. He wasn't wearing a shirt. He gripped the pillow in his fists as his back shook with the force of his sobs. It had been just over a week since he, and many others, had fallen.

Dean took a deep breath and walked into the room. He still had absolutely no idea what he was going to say. He stood next to Cas, who didn't react. He cleared his throat and scuffed his feet. Cas didn't look up, just kept hiccuping and snuffling into the pillow.

Dean lay down next to him. Cas didn't move closer, but he didn't move away either. Dean took this as something.  
With his thumbnail, he started at Cas' shoulder. He traced the strong, graceful curve of one wing, ending just above Cas' buttocks. He swept upwards again, drawing the outline of feathers. Just barely ghosting the skin, tracing an outline over and over. When the outline was done, he filled it in with feathers. Larger feathers near his shoulder blades, getting smaller as he traced the imaginary wing downwards.

He shifted his thumb over to the other shoulder and drew the same pattern. He was as soft and slow as he had ever been, slowly and with love and care, he traced a beautiful pair of feathers on his back.

Cas had stopped crying. Dean shifted him into his arms and pressed his lips to his temple.

He whispered in Cas' ear, his breath like a memory, like a ghost.

"I'm so sorry, Cas. But I guess, you'll always be an angel to me."

Cas wound his arms around his neck, and the two of them lay together until the sky turned dark.


	8. More Than Words

Dean scrolled though his mobile and finally decided to listen to that little blinking light that indicated he had a voicemail. He pressed the button and jammed the phone to his ear while simultaneously trying to open a can of coke.

The voicemail started with a man clearing his throat.

"Dean...it's me. It's Cas. I just...I just wanted to phone you and tell you something. I wanted you to keep this message and oh, I don't know, if you ever felt sad or lonely maybe you could listen and it would make you feel better? I don't know. Anyway. I just needed you to know. I love you. Endlessly. If anything were ever to happen to me, I wanted you to know that my love could not be eclipsed by death. It isn't possible. I will love you for a thousand lifetimes, and probably longer than that. You are needed, adored and cherished. I wouldn't ever want to know a world that didn't contain you, and I am endlessly grateful that I don't. You are the still point of my turning world, my beginning and my end, my reason to breathe and my rhyme. I watch the morning light flicker across your face and I feel blessed just to have seen it. I watch you sleep and wish I could keep you like that forever, at peace and safe. Never forget how much I adore you. Wrap it around you like a blanket and let it keep you warm. I will always love you, always want you, always need you and always think of you with nothing other than fondness. I...I don't really know why I'm telling you this. I just needed you to know. You are forever in my heart, Dean."

Dean lowered the phone from his ear and took two shaky breaths. He was astonished and a little bit abashed by Cas' declaration. He just didn't have his way with words. He loved him, but beyond saying those words- and that was hard enough- he didn't feel like he had anything to offer.

Later that night, a handsome man with sparkling green eyes lit the last candle in the bathroom, tore off his clothes and hopped into the warm water. A bottle of champagne sat in the sink brimming with ice. A man with eyes like sapphires and a smile that was the downfall of saints, shuffled in through the door.

"Ah" said Dean, rubbing some soap on his shoulders. "Care to join me?"

That night, actions definitely spoke louder than words, as beautiful as they may be.


	9. Inches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All about action below the tummy button.

You know Castiel, he loves to stare. He loves to stare and he does it a lot. Early on in his and Dean's relationship, when they were kissing with frenzy and fury, long, sucking, tongue swirling kisses, Dean was straddling Cas' lap. They were pushing their hips together in a desperate bid for friction, and Dean had slowly unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. Cas had glanced down quickly at the bulge covered by grey cotton, swallowed once, and then they had continued their passionate, deep kisses. Cas had moved a hand in the air, like he wanted to reach down, but he was too scared, so Dean had then pushed a hand between their bodies, pushed the cotton of his underwear down underneath his balls, and pulled his erection free. He had gently squeezed his hardness in his hands, retracting his foreskin just a little. He was thick, and hard, the head peeping out, glistening with wetness. Cas had jerked like he'd been hit, then he had slid to the floor, pushing Dean onto the chair he was in.

Castiel had just stared. He knelt before Dean, his face close, and stared. He moved closer, pushed his nose gently into Dean's balls and took a deep inhale. The skin of Dean's cock and balls are darker than the rest of his body, the hair that ends at the base of his dick is thick, dark and curly, the hair on his balls slightly lighter and finer. His cock, when hard, is long enough to be mouth-watering but really, it's the thickness that made Castiel's own cock twitch like it was pleading to be touched. Dean has such a wide cock, from the base to just below the glans. The head is even wider. Its veins and ridges are big and strong, like the rest of him. When he's aroused, like he was then, the head is dark red, flushed with blood, and glistens very softly with wetness. His cock sticks out at an almost perfect right angle to his body. He doesn't leak pre-come, but he remains very gently wet. He is not circumsized, and his foreskin is very silky soft and delicate, it moves smoothly over his cock. 

Once Cas had finished staring, which took quite a while and throughout which Dean remained hard and desperate, he began his exploration. He took Dean's cock in his hands, tracing veins, rubbing slowly, rubbing quickly, he tugged his foreskin backwards and forwards. He pushed his tongue under the foreskin and ran it around in circles. He rolled each ball between his fingers, then pushed them into his mouth, sucking and tasting, pushing the skin around with his tongue. When he pushed Dean's foreskin back with his fingers and thumb and sucked the head into his mouth, Dean has gave a strangled yelp, causing Castiel to move backwards rapidly as Dean came all over his face. Dean had panted for a while, shocked, whilst Castiel grinned and used his fingers to wipe the come off his face, licking it from himself and smiling. At the sight of Cas sucking come from his fingers and with every sign of enjoyment, Dean cock had twitched a little and sent another tiny spurt of come to the floor. 

But Cas' favourite thing to do is also Dean's favourite thing to do. Early in the morning, when Dean lies on his back asleep, Cas will glide silently down between his legs. Dean conveniently sleeps with his legs splayed wide open. If he is wearing nothing, that's great, if he isn't, Cas will gently push the fabric of his boxers up one leg until his dick falls free. When Dean isn't hard, his cock lays flat, nestled between his balls. The head of his dick is so large the foreskin doesn't cover it, even when its soft, leaving a very inviting little peek of head. Cas settles himself down comfortably, takes the head of Dean's dick into his mouth, and suckles. There really isn't any other word for it, he takes long, slow pulls on Dean's dick letting it sit in the soft palette of his mouth. As Dean begins to grow hard in his mouth, he uses his tongue to slowly work the foreskin back, leaving the dark red and extremely sensitive head in his mouth. He grabs Dean's bum and rolls him onto his hip, not breaking contact with his dick. He settles down again and sucks, gently then hard, long then short sucks, keeping his mouth hot and wet. The longest he's been down there is 45 minutes. After a while, Dean, awake by now, will begin to buck his hips. Cas relaxes and lets Dean fuck his mouth, his cock sliding into his cheek and along his tongue. Cas grabs Deans bum in two handfuls and squeezes and rubs the soft, warm flesh. When Dean's hips begin to snap quicker and quicker, Cas gently pulls him open with his thumbs, and teases one finger very softly along his hole, and never more than a second later, he is drinking Dean's come. He swallows deeply, having always liked the taste, and slows the pace of his sucks down, finally licking anything left from the slit, before softly releasing Dean's dick, planting a kiss on each ball as he leaves. Dean describes the feeling afterwards as like having had a great meal, a massage and a hot shower. Amazing.

Cas' dick is totally different, and once when they we both hard after a shower together, Dean had slid their dicks side by side just to compare. Cas is circumsized, and the head of his dick remains the exact shade of pearly pink as his lips, even when he's extremely hard. His cock is longer then Dean's but not as thick, and when he's hard, it curves strongly upwards towards his belly, the shaft itself curved too. When Dean comes, come dribbles down his dick. His hair is soft and tufty, whereas Dean's is curly and wiry. It's a pale brown and Dean loves rubbing it on his cheek. When Cas comes, he shoots for miles, and once when Dean provided a lap dance for him, Cas furiously masturbating, he had managed to come on his own face. One quick rub on his head later, Dean came all over his face too. Incredibly sexy. Dean finds that he loves Cas' dick. He loves the way it smells, the way it tastes, the way it feels when its rubbing on his tongue, in his hand, against his thigh or his bum. He loves the feeling of Cas growing hard against him when he's sucking his cock, loves seeing Cas tent his pyjama bottoms. He loves that when Cas wears that one pair of pale blue jeans, he can see the exact outline of his flaccid dick. It has made him, on more than one occasion, rub that outline of dick until it grows and grows. 

Cas loves being bitten on his dick. It's true. Very soft bites around the shaft make him whimper every time. He likes soft little nips to his balls too. He loves it when Dean fills his hand with a swirl of lube, grabs both their hard aching cocks and rubs and rubs and ruts his hips until they are a sticky mess of come. Actually, Cas likes Dean touching his dick in any format. Dean and Cas both still get hard now thinking about when Cas had burnt both of his hands and couldn't pee by himself, needing Dean to unbutton his pants, push his underwear aside and pull out his cock, holding it while he peed. There wasn't a single occasion when Cas had not begun to grow hard in his hand, and then the two of them found themselves pressing against each other, Cas's back to Dean's chest, his mouth on his neck and his hand working his cock furiously, sighing with relief when a huge splosh of come fell into the toilet. It happened every time. It had made a toilet stop at a gas station very interesting.

Quite often, the two of them will be doing something perfectly innocent, then suddenly Dean will remember how it looked when Cas curved his palm over Dean's dick to catch his come, or Cas will remember Dean grinning like a cheshire cat around a mouthful of dick, and they're off again.


End file.
